


Meet Me Halfway

by wingsofbadass



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Childhood Friends, Confessions, Dorkiness, First Kiss, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-10
Updated: 2015-08-10
Packaged: 2018-04-14 01:48:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4545501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wingsofbadass/pseuds/wingsofbadass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After realizing he's in love with his best friend Marco, Jean struggles with how to act around him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Meet Me Halfway

**Author's Note:**

  * For [flecksofpoppy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flecksofpoppy/gifts).



> This is dedicated to Poppy, an amazing friend, writer and human being in general.

Was he breathing too loudly? He was, wasn't he?

Jean closed his eyes, shutting out the flickering screen and colors dancing through the dark room in front of him, and tried to calm down. He allowed himself a deep breath through his nose that he held for a moment, then expelled through his lips like he was at yoga class or something. Definitely too loud.

It was alright, everything was alright. It was just Friends marathon night with Marco. Good old Marco. Good old adorable Marco who made his heart lose its shit on the regular. And there it went again, tripping in his chest, frantic as though it had suddenly realized just how close he was to Marco.

Jean let his lids flutter open again and stole a look at his best friend out of the corner of his eye. Oblivious as he was to Jean's struggle, his attention was still on the TV set, his lips set in the easy smile Jean had known since Kindergarten. If Jean's expression was set permanently into what people called a “resting bitch face”, Marco had a serious case of the “resting angel face.”

He let his gaze wander over Marco's features; over the strong edge of his jaw, the soft curve of his lips, the fullness of his lashes. When Marco laughed at some joke on screen, probably because Chandler had said something ridiculous again, the melody of it was so familiar to Jean and yet it sent warm fuzziness flying through his veins that he would've detested if it didn't feel so damn amazing.

Apparently, his open staring hadn't been as inconspicuous as Jean thought, because Marco turned his head to meet his eyes, brows raised in confusion or maybe concern for Jean's brain function.

“You okay?” Marco nudged his shoulder against Jean's playfully.

Only then did Jean blink out of his haze, dropping his gaze into his lap, as he felt warmth shoot up to take over his cheeks.

“Y-yeah, sure,” Jean told his crossed legs. He gulped.

“You've been so silent tonight,” Marco said, voice careful. It was the kind of tone he used when he was afraid Jean would explode on him. “I didn't wanna say anything, but – you look a little sad.” He paused, maybe waiting for a reaction. When he didn't get one, he continued, “You know you can talk to me about anything, right?”

Oh, God, could he _stop_ being such an angel? Jean just needed a little break from this, from the overwhelming desire to kiss the living daylights out of his best friend.

“I'm okay, I promise,” Jean mumbled, still not looking up. “Just a little lost in thought.”

It wasn't a lie, really. He _was_ okay. Kinda.

It was just that last week he'd realized he was in love with Marco.

Marco had come back home from his semester in Spain, all smiles and tan and radiance, and as they'd hugged warmly but briefly, Jean had realized that it wasn't enough.

He'd felt shaken, shattered, while he'd listened to Marco prattle cheerily about his flight and the rude lady at check-in. He'd wanted Marco to hold him, really close, and to keep holding him. He'd wanted to press his face into the crook of Marco's neck and drown in his warmth and his scent. He'd wanted to curl his hands into the fabric of Marco's t-shirt, just beneath his shoulder blades, and push closer. He'd wanted to kiss him; so, so badly it had made him dizzy.

And ever since the realization had hit him, Jean was barely able to think about anything else.

“Okay,” Marco said softly, accepting his answer for now. But he knew something was going on with Jean, he always knew.

There was no way for Jean to express how much he needed Marco in this moment. Marco, his best friend, who had listened to him whine about his crush on Mikasa for years and had never mentioned the tears of humiliation Jean had cried in front of him after she'd rejected him. He needed the solace and his warm voice that told him it would be okay. He needed a hug.

Jean's heart was racing again, thrumming a beat of longing and panic at the thought of being held by Marco. He was weak, so weak, because before he could talk himself out of it again, he let himself tip sideways until his temple was resting on Marco's broad shoulder.

For a tiny moment, Marco tensed at the contact and _oh, shit, this had been a mistake, it was too weird, too far_ , but then Marco wriggled his arm around Jean and pulled him in closer. Jean couldn't breathe. Marco's arm was strong around his shoulders, squeezing him in a gesture of consolation.

“It's alright,” Marco soothed, leaning his head against Jean's, so much like he used to when they were kids, before touching had become too weird, that Jean closed his eyes at the feeling. He inhaled deeply, taking in the scent of Marco's warm skin, and let himself soften against Marco's side.

 

* * *

 

Jean felt unraveled when Marco walked him to the front door of his apartment later that night. Like being close to Marco in that way had satisfied a need temporarily, only to make it flare up with more intensity afterwards, and now his longing was leaking out from between his seams.

“Thanks for coming over, it was great” Marco said, polite as ever, as though they hadn't been doing this for about 20 years. The words were genuine, though, Jean knew that, as was the smile on his lips.

“Thanks for – you know.” Jean made vague hand gesture to accompany the empty words he didn't even know the meaning of himself. His chest ached at the prospect of having to leave Marco's side already. It was pathetic, really, how much he wished Marco would ask him to stay over. Share his bed. Sleep in his embrace.

Marco waved his hand lightly, dismissing Jean's thanks for something he considered ordinary between them. If only he knew how very extraordinary it had been for Jean.

He could let him know.

It would be so easy. All he had to do is take one step forward, close the little space between them until there was barely any left. And then he'd tip his head up slightly, although he'd never admit it, because that would mean admitting that Marco had indeed grown just a little taller than him, and slide a palm into the back of his neck to pull him down. And then there'd be nothing left but to kiss him.

_Do it, Jean, just kiss him, kiss him, kiss him._

“I guess I'll see you around, bro,” Jean said, and he'd already spoken those stupid words and Marco was looking at him like he'd lost his mind, so – he raised his fist and bumped it against Marco's shoulder like some absolute _douchebag._

“ _Bro?_ ” Marco laughed, the sound clear and wonderful as ever, but Jean's face was burning with embarrassment.

“Shut up, I don't know,” Jean stammered, taking a step backward and tripping over the welcome mat.

Instinctively, it seemed, Marco made a grab for Jean's wrist, keeping him from falling backwards into the hallway. Jean looked up to thank him, but the words got lost on the way to his lips, when he met Marco's gaze. There was a heat to the calmness he hadn't seen in those eyes before.

Oh God, he wanted to kiss him so much.

Jean couldn't stop himself from looking at Marco's mouth, just for a second, to look at the full curve of those lips, at the pale freckles that strayed onto them. When he looked back up, his heart went into a frenzy that was starting to become familiar in Marco's presence.

Marco had seen the movement of his eyes, he was sure of it. The thought was terrifying and liberating all at once. He could do it.

Around his wrist, he could feel Marco's fingers shake a little.

“Uhm, well, I should get going,” Jean said unsteadily. His words almost sounded like a question, his voice betraying his hope that Marco would not let him leave. Instead, Marco blinked at him, then slid his hand off Jean's arm.

“Okay.” The smile was back on his face. Somehow, it made Jean's heart sink. “Text me when you get home.”

 

* * *

 

The street lamps doused the night in yellow light, so bright that it washed all the colors away and left the world monochrome and unreal. Jean came to a halt underneath one, where he tilted his face into his hands and groaned.

How the hell was he supposed to stand this?

He couldn't think clearly in Marco's presence. His brain fizzled with the many desires churning inside of him. All he could think of was being close to him, no matter how. And Marco was not an idiot. He already knew something was up and it wouldn't take him long to see right through him. Just like he always did.

Fuck, Marco knew him so _well_ , and while that thought flooded his chest with panic, it also made him so damn _happy_. Because Marco knew him like nobody else did and he was so lucky to be cared about by someone like him, no matter in what way. Maybe even in the way he was yearning for, maybe, maybe.

He made another desperate sound into his palms, probably looking a little deranged.

But how could Marco like him that way? Marco was a fucking ray of sunshine and he was gorgeous and kind and funny. Meanwhile, Jean was this scrawny grump that was all bluntness and snark and admittedly pretty good fashion sense.

The uncertainty was eating him alive. He'd never been good at holding back, at concealing his feelings and stopping them from gushing out between his lips. He'd failed at taking action, but maybe it wasn't too late for words.

Lowering his hands and straightening up, Jean took a steadying breath. He could do it. It was Marco.

When Jean turned around, there he was.

Marco came to an uncertain halt a couple of steps from him as soon as their eyes met.

At the sight of him, standing there in the middle of the street, golden in the light of the lamp overhead, Jean's heart soared, leaving him dazed. After overcoming his moment of hesitance, Marco came closer. His steps were slow, deliberate.

“I'm glad I caught you,” he said, when he was right in front of Jean.

Jean tipped his head back a fraction, to bring their eyes level. “Why?” he asked, voice barely more than a whisper, but still the hope in that little word was shamefully obvious, even to Jean.

He saw Marco swallow thickly, before replying. “It feels unfinished.”

“What does?”

Marco struggled with words, his eyes darted nervously between Jean's. “You and me.”

He couldn't possibly mean what Jean hoped he meant. It wasn't possible. It was also impossible that Marco took another step forward and that they were now the closest they could be without touching. That Jean felt Marco's fingers nudge his gingerly, before twining them together. That Marco licked his lips nervously. It couldn't be happening.

“What's on your mind, Jean?” Marco whispered, his breath hot on Jean's lips. “What wouldn't you tell me?”

Jean's mouth went dry. The determination he'd conjured up just a moment ago evaporated the instant Marco demanded it of him. What if he ruined everything? Who would console him when he got his heart broken by the most important person in his life?

But there was a look in Marco's eyes. A look that might've been a plea.

The words formed in Jean's throat.

“I –”

He couldn't do it. Fear was creeping up his back, making him shudder. And all he could do was look into Marco's expectant face and silently beg him in return. He was too scared, too terrified of losing his best friend. These feelings he had were the best and the worst thing he'd ever felt and he didn't think he could live with having them rendered meaningless.

Something flicked in Marco's eyes and then, he leaned closer still.

The way Marco kissed Jean was soft, because that was how Marco was. It was a gentle press of lips, a whisper of a touch, a tender sigh. With a needy sound, Jean pushed nearer and the fingers of his free hand came up to curl into Marco's t-shirt right over his chest. Their mouths moved together, slowly, savoring every moment of their kisses.

Marco's lips were _so soft_ it made Jean's knees weak. Another sound escaped between the tiny space between them, giving voice to their helpless desire for each other, and when Jean smoothed his palm over Marco's chest, he could feel the way his heart was beating violently against his ribs. Marco slung an arm around his waist and held him.

“I'm in love with you,” Jean finally choked against Marco's mouth, his heart fluttering wildly with the relief and terror of finally saying it. Marco's happy sigh ghosted over Jean's skin and when he kissed him again, Jean could feel the way his lips curved into a broad smile. Giddy, drunk on this moment, Jean laughed into the kiss. “Fuck, I'm so in love with you.”

The sound Marco made against Jean's lips was something like a whimper. Gladly, Jean let him deepen the kiss, then trailed his hand up until he could cup Marco's jaw and feel his heated skin. They were swaying slightly on the spot or maybe it was just the storm of happiness throwing Jean this way and that like a powerless little boat out at sea.

When Jean broke away from the kiss to draw breath, Marco freed his hand from his to wrap both of his arms around him and press him close. He held him tightly, warmly, just like Jean had longed for, and nuzzled against the side of Jean's neck. “I've been in love with you forever.”

Chest tight with emotion, Jean squeezed Marco, pressed a kiss to his hair. “I can't believe this is happening.”

“Will you stay the night?”

Jean nodded, strangely excited and abashed by the idea of sleeping over, like they hadn't done it countless times. Marco kissed him once more, before letting go and turning to head back towards his apartment building, his head tilted adorably in a quiet invitation to follow. Jean reached out and took hold of Marco's hand, heat flaring in his cheeks.

“Are you blushing?” Marco sounded like he was holding back laughter.

“N-no, shut up.” Jean turned his head to the side, hoping to hide his face.

Marco stepped closer to him, trapping their intertwined hands between their hips as they walked.

“Will you sleep in my bed?” Marco murmured with a hint of a teasing smile in his tone as he leaned into him. “Will you play footsie with me under the covers?”

“Oh, fuck you,” Jean groused, shoving Marco a little too gently to seem serious. Giggling, they struggled with each other half-heartedly for a moment, before their lips met for more soft kisses. “Yeah, I will.”

Unfinished. The word Marco had used to describe them echoed in Jean's mind. And that was what it had felt like when he'd left. Like leaving something incomplete behind. Like starting something and giving up halfway through, never finishing.

They were starting something, he and Marco, and Jean was determined to see it through to the end.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading. If you enjoyed this, I'd really appreciate any kind of feedback :)
> 
> You can also come say hello on [Tumblr](http://wingsofbadass.tumblr.com/)


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